Thursday, July 5, 2012

Wise Old Man Fourth of July

The letter from the Wise
Old Man came the last day of June. It was an old envelope, coffee-stained and
bug-streaked and the paper was from a Big Chief pad. The epistle was written in
pencil in careful, painstakingly stately penmanship. The paper looked as if it
had been around for decades and it had coffee cup stains in three places. It
said:

“Dear Dan and Mrs.
Ford, please come to my home in Union Parish north of Choudrant in the New Hope
Community for the Fourth of July. I’ll be serving dinner at 5:30 and I sure
hope y’all can come. If you are standing in front of the Baptist Church across
from New Hope Cemetery, go left for a half mile and when the paved road goes
off right, you go straight on the dirt one. My place is on the creek beyond the
mounds. With every good wish, ________. P. S. no need to repondez vous.”

Even though we had
other plans, it didn’t take much of a conversation between us admiring spouses
(or is that spice) to decide to go, which we did and we both were entertained
and edified. Even though his directions seemed vague, all the geography fell
into place from the time we reached New Hope Baptist to rounding the mounds to
discover an antebellum plantation home, all white and shiny in the late
Louisiana sunshine. The Wise Old Man was sitting in a cane-bottom chair smoking
a cob pipe and waving. There were two well-maintained horses under saddle tied
to the porch railing along with a skinny old white mule under pack. Twin
middle-aged men, whose faces and hands were Vermeer brown, were sitting on the
steps smoking big cigars that gave the atmosphere a very homey smell.

When we got out of the
Toyota, the Wise Old Man said, “Hey, y’all, you’ve gone international. Last
time we visited you were driving a Chevy.” I replied that it was a bargain
lease car and we liked it. “Way to go, son,” he said in an encouraging tone.

“I’d like to introduce
Keats and Shelley, my co-owners of this place. We call it Americus Farm and we
raise cane. No, really, you know, sugar cane.” The twins grinned and blew big
clouds of smoke in reply. Keats and Shelley are going down to D’Arbonne to camp
tonight after we eat. They should come riding back up here tomorrow with 40 or
50 channel cat.”

As the five of us were
sitting at table after eating some of the most wonderful barbecue pork, beans,
slaw, corn and biscuits imaginable, the Wise Old Man said this:

“Our country is 236
years old. We have had trouble as a people, deep trouble. We are diverse,
eccentric, independent, free and stubborn. But I have learned that love is the
cork on the line and when it jumps you pull. What comes out will always
satisfy. The cork is jumping, y’all!”

Keats and Shelley
grinned broadly, both sporting identical gold teeth. Then they said in unison, “Any
friend of__________is a friend of the twins.” We watched them ride away leading
the old mule laden with camping gear and fishing equipment until they
disappeared around the mounds. I said, “I miss the simple life.” My wife
replied, “Just watch the cork, Danny.”